


A Lesson in How Fleeting Preservation Is

by cuckleberrywish



Series: This Much I Know [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Humor, eventual Doctor/Donna
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-08 15:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4311279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuckleberrywish/pseuds/cuckleberrywish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After boxing the Doctor soundly about the ears (verbally, if not physically) for dumping her back in her old, aimless existence, she’s readjusted to life on the TARDIS brilliantly, if she does say so herself. With one marked exception.</p><p>A series of connected ficlets detailing Shaun Temple's introduction to life on the TARDIS following Donna's recovery from the metacrisis. Spoiler: it doesn't go that well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

At first, Donna thinks it’ll work out brilliantly.

 After boxing the Doctor soundly about the ears (verbally, if not physically) for dumping her back in her old, aimless existence, she’s readjusted to life on the TARDIS brilliantly, if she does say so herself. With one marked exception:

 Her poor, dear, unwitting, long-suffering husband.  Try as he may, he just can’t seem to get things quite right.

“THAT’S THE THIRD TIME THIS WEEK,” the Doctor is roaring thunderously. Donna has never seen him lose his cool so magnificently. At least not without the presence of some sort of alien dictator. Shaun is all but trembling beneath the onslaught. “FOR THE LAST TIME. DON’T. TOUCH. MY. TARDIS.”

 “I was just–“

 “Don’t!”

 “But–“

 “Nope!”

 “But Donna–“

 “Don’t touch it!” 

 The Doctor glares at Donna as if this whole incident is her fault (which she grudgingly admits is relatively fair as she’s the one who’d brought Shaun here in the first place) and then whirls around, the tails of his great coat fluttering behind him as he strides angrily from console room. 

 Shaun looks at Donna helplessly and she rushes to him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

 “He hates me.”

 “Nooo,” Donna coos gently. “He’s just a bit… cross.”

 “He’s a bit cross like you’re a bit stubborn,” Shaun retorts and grins sheepishly when Donna raises an eyebrow sharply. 

 “He’s just not used to… that is, he’s used to it just being the two of us. It’s just taking him some time to adjust, that’s all.” 

 Shaun looks doubtful, and she cups his cheek. “Chin up, love. He really is lovely. You’ll see. He’s just being–“ she glares pointedly down the corridor, “difficult. I’ll talk to him. I’ll put it right. Don’t you worry.”

Shaun looks a little put-off by her tone, as if she was talking to an offended toddler, but she can't be bothered to pander to his manliness right now. She fees like she _is_ dealing with toddlers, the way the two of them quarrel. She’d unwittingly become some kind of space nanny and her charges just happened to be her best friend and her husband. 

 She kisses him gently and heads off down the corridor in search of the Doctor. 

 

“You!” she barks, when she finds him brooding in the library, his face stormy. “What the hell are you playing at?” 

 “He touched my TARDIS!”

 “I don’t care if he bloody _lit your TARDIS on fire–_ “ she sends a silent apology up to the TARDIS for that, feeling guilty for drawing her into the crossfire, “he’s still _my_ guest and you’re treating him like rubbish! You’re acting like a child, Doctor! And don’t forget he’s the only reason I’m back here! I wouldn’t come if you didn’t let me bring him so if you want to chuck him out you’ll have to chuck me right out too!”

 The Doctor sits, seething and silent, his flaring nostrils and thunderous brow the only outward signals of his towering temper. 

 “Should have known I was wasting my time,” Donna spits. “God forbid we actually have a conversation nowadays.” 

 For a moment she thinks he won’t answer, and then he mumbles something indistinct.

 “Care to share something with the class, Spaceman?” she tuts impatiently.

 He glares at her. “And whose fault as that, exactly?” 

 She whirls around. “Certainly not mine! I know you love playing the stoic-and-silent alien but it gets a little old, Doctor!” 

 His chair clatters to the ground and he’s standing in front of her in three large strides. His breath thunders past her and she thinks his respiratory bypass is on the edge of kicking in judging by the way his chest is heaving, fists tightly clenched.

 “Don’t think for one second, Donna Noble, that you can outsmart me,” he bites out through gritted teeth. “I know why he’s here.”

 She falters, fear flickering in her eyes, but brings herself up to her full height, her jaw clenching. “Enlighten me, then.” 

 “He’s here because you can’t bear to be alone with me,” he growls. “He’s here because you’re scared of me–“

 “I– of course not–“ 

 “And you’re terrified that he’ll find out the only reason he’s here is because you don’t trust me anymore and you’re more terrified that he’ll figure out he was just a placeholder in your life–“

 “Of course he’s not–“ she nearly whines, desperately aware of how thin and reedy her denial sounds. He’s so close to her now she can see the freckles littering his crooked nose. 

“Well you saw me on that first day Donna, you saw what I was capable of and you still came back to me but now–“ He pauses, and swallows hard. 

 Suddenly, his shoulders hunch the fire seems to desert him. He clenches his eyes shut and when he meets her gaze again, he’s looking every one of his 900 some odd years. “Now you’ve seen and now you don’t… want me.” 

 His face now is so similar to how he’d looked years ago when she’d first rejected him that suddenly it seems absurd that she’d been shouting at him. She doesn’t know what else to do but hug him. 

“ _Of course_ I still want you,” she says, feeling the tension leak out of her frame in his familiar embrace. “You’re my best mate.” 

She pulls back, sliding her palms down his arms to his hands and grasping them firmly. 

 “And… I want to… I _do_ want to trust you again. It’s just taking a little bit longer than I thought.”

 He nods solemnly and she can see the regret painted all over his face. “Of course you do,” he says a little stiffly. They study each other for a long moment and Donna quirks a grin. 

 “But lay off Shaun, will you? I can’t deal with two squabbling teenagers all the time, it was hard enough just handling you.” 

 He smiles wanly at her and nods, bumping her side lightly with his. They’ll adjust with time. She’s sure of it. 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

All things considered Donna thinks it’s still going brilliantly and shoves any doubts she has about their arrangement right out the TARDIS doors and into space. She does, however find they tend to hit towering speed bumps that remind her very firmly that it’s not just she and the Doctor galavanting around the universe anymore. 

First, there’s the Doctor’s tendency to burst into her bedroom first thing in the morning and parade about like some sort of deranged puppy desperate for attention until she’s showered, coffee-d and generally rejoined the human race. The addition of Shaun made this habit rather more awkward. Not that it hadn’t been awkward in the first place, if she was honest with herself. 

Second, there was the Doctor, for all intents and purposes, halting her sex life. All it had taken was the Doctor walking in on them once to put Donna off the idea of sex in the TARDIS and possibly off the idea of sex altogether. Shaun, understandably, was a more than a little frustrated. She didn’t understand how anyone could have ever brought a significant other on the TARDIS with the Doctor constantly poking his head in where it didn’t belong, and felt a distinct stab of admiration for Rose and Mickey’s brazenness. 

If it wasn’t a blatant interruption, it was a knock on the door and a muttered, “Could you two keep it down?” that if nothing else, very quickly killed the passion. Shaun would glare darkly at the door while Donna carefully extricated herself from him, hissing an apology and staring awkwardly at the ceiling. 

“You’re apologizing to _him_?” Shaun would grumble good-naturedly and Donna couldn’t help but laugh. 

Lastly, there’s the confusing nature of her relationship with the Doctor, that Shaun seems to have difficulty understanding. She can’t blame him because people still assume she and the Doctor are a couple even when he tags along. 

“So you two shared a bed… but not like that.”

She nods sheepishly. “Never like that.”

“But you two hold hands all the time.”

“Yeah but–“

“And cuddle.”

“But–“

“But you’ve never…”

“God no!” Donna nearly shrieks. “Well… I mean there was the time… but that wasn’t anything really, it was for diplomatic reasons.”

Shaun doesn’t look altogether comforted and she resolves never to tell him about that time in Space Vegas. Even though there had been a perfectly respectable reason for that as well. He’s still looking dubious. 

“He’s my best mate, Shaun. I love him very much, but I’m not in love with him. That’s all there is to it, really.”

Shaun heaves out a resigned sigh perfected by months of living with his wife and her male best friend whom she may or may not have slept with for diplomatic reasons. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Slowly but surely, Donna thinks she’s starting to unpack the Doctor’s animosity toward Shaun. 

“What do you have against him?”

She asks him out of the blue when they’re in the library, her aching feet up in his lap while she flips through a magazine and he fiddles with some little mechanical device or another, his sonic screwdriver alight. They’d gone to a cocktail party on the seventh moon of Sverius that evening which had gone miraculously uninterrupted but even so, Donna swears she’ll never wear high heels again.  

He pretends not to hear her for a moment but the tips of his ears tinge pink. “Who?”

“You muppet, you know _who_.” 

The Doctor stiffens. “He’s always under foot. He’s always touching my things and–“ he pauses and swallows, and Donna pointedly raises an eyebrow.

“And if you must know, I don’t think he’s good enough for you,” the Doctor sniffs haughtily, his eyes back on his mechanical doohickey. 

“Oh get off,” she laughs. 

“I don’t think _anyone_ is good enough for you,” he mumbles, looking almost irritated at her for her dismissal. Donna laughs sharply but then stops when she sees how solemn his expression is.

“Oh you can’t be serious.”

“Of course I am,” the Doctor mutters as if it’s no big deal, still feigning focus on his screwdriver. “You’re brilliant.” 

Her denial dies on her tongue when he meets her gaze. 

“But you are good enough?” she shoots. He shrugs, his eyes glittering darkly. 

“I have my moments.” 

* * *

“Do you want to have children?” he asks her one day randomly, and her head shoots up. 

“What sort of a personal question is that?”

“Just curious,” he muses, in his great-observer-of-the-universe voice. “Human women of a certain age…” he trails off, and she has to make a conscious effort to close her mouth.

“You sayin’ I’m old, mate?”  

“Couldn’t have children running around here, I suppose,” he says, still feigning indifference.

“I suppose not,” she answers sharply. 

“So do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Want to have children?” 

She sighs and gives him a withering look. “I dunno, motherhood isn’t really suited to our life here.” 

“You can leave if you like,” he grunts and looks surprised when she laughs.

“Oh is that what this is about? You’re not getting rid of me that easily, you idiot. But you may change your mind when you have to deal with a hormonal cow with fat ankles.”

He looks marginally more cheerful at that and Donna rolls her eyes. He couldn’t be less subtle if he tried. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Shaun watches them together sometimes, and wonders if he belongs.

They’re side by side doing the washing up and the action looks so fluid and practiced like they’ve done it a thousand times before (and he’s sure they probably have). The Doctor gets suds on his ear and Donna cackles and brushes them off fondly, rolling her eyes for his benefit but then grinning as soon as he turns away. He wonders if he and Donna will ever look that _right_ together. 

She catches him watching from the doorway and beams at him. Then again, how can he doubt his place when she looks at him like she’d throw it all away if he asked her to?

“Oi, Shaun, give us a hand,” she calls happily, and the Doctor’s easy grin slides from his face like always. For an incredibly perceptive woman, she can be remarkably dense about some things. 

* * *

He knows she’s trying her best to keep the peace, but he wonders how it wears on her. He sees her go to grasp the Doctor’s hand or throw her arms around him or do any of the thousand tiny affectionate things Shaun doubts she’d have noticed before his arrival and then she hesitates and snatches her hand back. The Doctor notices and glowers at Shaun, as if it’s Shaun’s fault his best friend doesn’t feel free to touch him anymore. He’s thankful for her sensitivity but he  selfishly wishes the impulse to touch the Doctor didn’t exist in her at all in the first place. 

She’s not perfect though.

She’s gone from their bedroom after he finishes showering, and he follows the TARDIS’s mental nudges he’s not yet quite accustomed to receiving until he reaches the library. She’s fast asleep on the Doctor’s chest, her hands loosely grasping the lapel of his jacket. He’s deeply consumed by the thick technical manual he’s reading, his glasses perched precariously at the tip of his nose. He’s contorted himself so as not to disturb her, one arm rested against the back of the sofa suspending his book one handed, the other loosely draped around her shoulders. A fire crackles merrily in the background, radiating warmth. The scene is so tender Shaun almost feels bad for the burst of sadness that settles in his chest. 

Shaun clears his throat. 

The Doctor’s head snaps up, the hand idly stroking Donna’s shoulder shooting up to scrub nervously at his hair. 

“Oh er– hello,” he says. Shaun feels suddenly painfully awkward. He’s never been left alone to talk to the Doctor without Donna there to diffuse the tension. 

Luckily, she’s awoken by the Doctor’s voice. She sighs as her eyes flicker open, and favours the Doctor with such a beautifully warm smile that it makes Shaun’s heart melt and break at once. She turns slowly, stretching, and catches sight of him.

“Oh Shaun!” she exclaims with a smile, sitting up suddenly. 

“Didn’t mean to disturb you,” Shaun answers stiffly.

She doesn’t seem to hear him because she’s swatting at the Doctor. “How could you let me fall asleep like that? I was trying to read!”

“Didn’t realize you were asleep,” the Doctor lies. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Donna weeps when Shaun says he’s going home for a couple nights.

“I just think you two have some unfinished business to sort out,” he insists, stroking her hair as she sniffles. “I think you need some time alone.” 

She shakes her head plaintively, grasping his other hand. “Whatever it is that’s bothering you, I-I’ll fix it. I just want this to w-work.”

He smiles wanly and shakes his head. “You’ve been wonderful. You two just have too much history. It’s _okay_ Donna. I’ll be back in a couple days. We’ll talk.”

He kisses her, trying to ignore the taste of salt on his tongue and the way her hands tremble where she holds him. 

* * *

The first day he’s gone, they hardly talk at all. 

Donna doesn’t mean to blame the Doctor for his absence, but the Doctor can still feel her gaze following him, thick and accusatory, from room to room. 

The second day, they shout. 

It’s cathartic and beautiful and they scream at each other until their throats are raw. They end up in her room and he finally lets himself mourn. 

The third day is almost normal. 

He wakes with a start to find she’s awake already, atop the duvet next to him, her mascara smudged and clothes askew. They’d cried themselves to sleep last night after they’d shouted themselves hoarse, and he feels oddly rejuvenated, like a thick fog had lifted around him and inside him. 

“Good morning,” she murmurs, grinning crookedly at him.

“Hi there,” he answers lamely. 

She stretches her hand out from beneath her and takes his by his side.

“I missed you,” she says simply, and he knows just what she means. He squeezes her hand. “Yeahhhh,” he breaths. 

So they spend the whole day together in the TARDIS, reading and watching movies and catching up like old times. He feels himself falling into the familiar rhythms with her, untainted by unsaid apologies or lurking husbands, for that matter. He takes them to the 17th century Nice for a peaceful lunch which is interrupted, as always, by an ex-dictator on the run from prosecution on his home planet. 

By the time they get back to the TARDIS, they’re red-faced and panting, clothes badly singed from some misplaced laser fire. Donna looks magnificently irritated, leaning against the TARDIS door that’s just been slammed with her chest heaving. 

He casts a nervous glance in her direction waiting for her to catch her breath and start shouting at him. 

Instead, she collapses onto the jump seat, throws back her head and starts laughing. It’s not long before he joins in and flings himself down on the jump seat next to her.

And for a while, the cavernous console room is filled with laughter. 

 

When their laughter subsides, her sides are aching and her stomach hurts and her back is sore from a brush with some low hanging branches but she’s never felt better. 

“You just can’t get it right,” she sighs happily, dropping her head on his shoulder. 

“When it comes to some things,” he responds carefully. She twists to look up at him and he’s fiddling with his hands in his lap, not quite meeting her gaze. 

“I _am_ sorry Donna,” he murmurs. “For… everything. For you. For how I’ve treated… him.”

“I know, you idiot,” she laughs. “We’re done with brooding.” 

She knows how he likes to dwell in the past. And she refuses to be added to the pile of regrets he’s amassed over a thousand years of traveling. He’s staring at her almost reverently again and it makes her squirm.

She thinks if he could just get over the whole calling-her-brilliant-when-she’s-plainly-not thing they might start to have something that resembles a normal friendship. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst ho!

Everything is going well for Donna Noble.

Shaun is due to return the following day. She and the Doctor have enjoyed a solid week of something that almost resembles pre-metacrisis life on the TARDIS. All things considered, it’s the best outcome she could have hoped for. 

But of course, nothing ever goes quite as planned. 

It starts off innocently enough. The Doctor throws open the TARDIS doors to reveal a bustling metropolis that could almost be a city on earth, were it not for the purple-skinned humanoids striding briskly past. 

“Donna Noble, welcome to Newpaltz!” he announces. She smiles and hooks her arm in his and they join the throng on the pavement.

“What happened to old Paltz?”

“Oh, got overpopulated, I expect. You know, out with the old, in with the Newpaltz.”

He shoots her his patented manic grin and she laughs, enjoying the feeling of the brisk air against her skin as they dodge a purple woman and cross the street. 

“Where are they all headed?” 

“Party of the year,” he says, bouncing his eyebrows. 

“Is that all we do lately, go to parties?” she asks, feigning annoyance.

He leans in close to her ear and she can hear the smirk in his voice. “I’m trying to spoil you rotten, Donna Noble, but of course you won’t just let it happen.” 

“That’s me, I hate parties,” Donna laughs and he grips her tighter, tugging her forward. 

The crowd converges on a massive field, incongruous among the urban landscape. A vast stone dais rises from the center of the field, intricate symbols etched into perimeter. Atop the dais musicians play feverishly, their rapturous purple faces cast toward the sky. Twin suns are hanging just above the horizon, casting the cityscape into silhouette. In lieu of street lamps, orbs of light hang suspended just above the heads of the crowd, dotting the field in gold. It’s utterly breathtaking. 

In the area surrounding the dais, there is a throng of revelers, twirling and dancing madly with no discernible rhythm, but all laughing and whooping and grinning. The atmosphere is infectious and Donna feels her stomach flutter with excitement. 

“What are they celebrating?” Donna asks.

“It’s their annual festival of the sun goddess.” He gestures to the gleaming orbs in the sky, still straddling the horizon. “Once a year, the sun never sets.” 

“Hang on… we’re not going to end up as a sacrificial lamb are we?”

He shakes his head, eyes glinting. “They’re a very modern society, Paltzinians. No blood sacrifices here.” 

Slightly mollified (but not much; it wouldn’t be the first time the Doctor’s been mistaken on such a key detail) Donna allows him to pull her toward the dais. They may be light years away from home, but Donna recognizes an open bar when she spots one. She tugs on his arm.

“Let’s get drinks!” she shouts above the din. 

She thought they’d stick out with their comparatively plain-skin, but there are all sorts of species now that they’ve properly entered the field. There are humanoids of different colors and sizes and then some other creatures she can scarcely identify including one that looks a bit like a cloud of bubbles, and another that is only visible because the air behind it shimmers slightly as it moves. It’s remarkable what traveling with the Doctor has done to broaden her horizons. She doesn’t think twice when the bubble-cloud-thing knocks into her and apologizes politely. 

The Doctor hands her a frothy lavender beverage that he assures her she’ll love and sure enough the first sip warms her and sits pleasantly at her core. “It’s a bit like rum, but a little stronger,” he tells her and she sighs happily, feeling very much at one with the universe and its inhabitants. 

They sit on the grass together for a while watching the dancers and she laughs when he takes a sip of his drink and promptly gets a frothy lavender mustache. He smiles at her laughter. 

“It’s beautiful,” she says, leaning on his shoulder. She’s not sure whether she’s referring to the dancers, or the night, or the music but she suspects a little of all of them. 

“Just wait,” he answers. “It gets better. Come on.” 

She doesn’t have time to ask how because he gets to his feet, and pulls her up too. 

He’s never much been one for dancing, so she’s surprised at the enthusiasm with which he drags her into the center of the mass of swirling bodies. He downs the last of his drink in one go and sets it off to the side and she stares at him incredulously for a moment, and then before she can second guess herself, does the same. 

Because he’s the Doctor, and she thinks she knows him quite well considering, she half expects screams to ricochet through the crowd and fully expects to run for her life at some point during the evening. But there are no screams forthcoming as they dance together, giddy with laughter and drink. He does a little twirling sort of a move and she nearly wets herself as he overbalances and grabs onto her arm to keep from falling. 

She feels light and serene and for once utterly unselfconscious as she dances. She blushes when she sees him watching her, smiling warmly, but is quickly distracted by a ring of flowers that is tossed around her neck by another party goer. She grins at him and shrugs happily, shoulders swaying. 

“These aren’t poisonous or carnivorous anything, are they Martian?” she calls to him.

“They’re just flowers, Donna,” he reassures her. He himself has been so-anointed with a crown of flowers. He looks absurd. She supposes that for once, flowers are just flowers and begins to cautiously lower her guard. 

She doesn’t know how long they dance, but abruptly the music halts and a gong sounds. The other dancers start to shuffle back toward the perimeter of the field, and they follow hand in hand. They sit down together on the grass.

“What’s going on?”

Before he has the chance to answer, there is a whoosing sound and all of the orbs of light around the field fly toward the center of the dais, colliding in mid air and bathing the entire field with blinding gold light. Glittering in the center of the sky is the image of a woman, made up of swirling pastels, like an aurora borealis on steroids. She seems to shimmer in and out of focus and dives and dips around the captivated crowd, seeming to rain golden light as she moves. She plunges toward the suns, becoming fainter in the wake of their fiery brightness until she disappears completely, leaving trails of gold that span the night sky. The audience bursts into applause.

“What the hell was that?” Donna breaths, rapturous. 

“Atmospheric disturbance caused by magnetic radiation in the upper atmosphere. They’ve got a lot of stuff in their upper atmosphere you haven’t on earth,” he answers slightly dazedly, also staring into the sky. 

She frowns at him. 

“Fine. It was sun goddess,” he sniffs and she smiles. 

 

Later, they meander their way back to the TARDIS, leaning on each other and stumbling every now and again as they walk up the street. Donna feels giddy and drunk and she still can’t quite believe they’ve made it through an uninterrupted evening. 

“So what’s all this for, Spaceman?” she asks as he fumbles with the TARDIS key.

It’s a mark of how tipsy he is that he doesn’t even feign misunderstanding. “If you must know, I wanted to do something nice for the two of us.”

She giggles, ruffles his hair and sinks down onto the jump seat, her head spinning. 

“Why now?”

He sits down next to her. “Wanted to do something before… y’know… _he_ comes back.”

“You daft, sentimental old…” she trails off and leans her head back, closing her eyes and smiling serenely. Everything is floating on the dregs of the evening and nothing quite seems real. 

When she opens her eyes again his lips have quirked into a the small, genuine smile that she loves so. She thinks he doesn’t smile like that often enough, though more lately. 

She’s not entirely sure what happens next, just that he’s suddenly so close she can feel his breath misting over her skin and then he kisses her or she kisses him but regardless they’re kissing and it feels right and _wonderful._

Because her brain is foggy and serene (and for no other reason, she tells herself), she twists her fingers into his ridiculous hair and kisses him harder. One of his hands settles against the back of her neck and the other on her waist and the pressure feels just right. 

She kisses him until she starts to see stars and when she pulls back, his hair is deliciously tousled, his lips moist and inviting. He looks dazed like she’s never seen him before. She can’t stop herself. 

When she kisses him again, his hands start to wander, sliding from her waist to her hip and she moans a little bit, her mouth falling open. He takes the invitation and kisses her more deeply, his other hand slipping underneath her blouse and gentling on the warm skin of her back. 

“God,” she groans as his lips move to her neck. “I can’t believe this is happening.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just nibbles at the freckles on her collar bone, his hands sliding up to gently palm her breasts. 

They stand up together, still intertwined and he starts backing her down the corridor. She shoves his jacket off and without her permission her fingers begin fumbling with the buttons at his throat. He pauses to yank her blouse off over her head and she draws his lips back to hers. 

They make slow progress toward her bedroom and when he takes off her bra he spends nearly a full minute staring at her with something that’s a little too close to awe for her comfort. She blushes and pulls him back down to her. 

She finally feels a doorknob pressed into her back and reaches behind her to open it, maneuvering around the Doctor’s grip on her hips. 

At that moment, her mobile rings. 

She curses and he pauses in his careful exploration of her cleavage. He raises an eyebrow. 

“Could be Gramps,” she mutters apologetically and dips into her trouser pocket, flipping her mobile open. 

“Hello?”

“Donna!”

Her heart drops. “S-Shaun!”

 

The Doctor feels the exact moment the pleasant haze breaks as he listens to Donna’s side of the conversation, his hearts pounding furiously.

“Of course, I-I’ve missed you too,” she stutters, casting blindly around the floor for her blouse. He toes it toward her questing fingers and she pulls it on over her head. 

“Yeah, I… I love you too… see you soon. Bye.”

She shoves her mobile back into her pocket and he realizing she’s crying. She sinks down the wall, burying her head in her hands. 

“I’m such an idiot,” she cries. “I don’t know what I was doing. What were we doing?” 

“Donna–“ he begins, reaching for her. She swats his hand away.

“Don’t touch me!” she chokes out. “Just _don’t._ ” 

She swipes at her nose and scrubs at her eyes. “All that nice _stuff_ you said to me and did for me, did you just want this the entire time? Or was it all just to drive him away?” 

“Of course not Donna, I–“

“I have to–“ she doesn’t finish the sentence. She just slips into her bedroom and slams the door in his face. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

The next day they land in Peckham to pick up Shaun. Donna’s hardly spoke a word since the night before and she can tell it’s unnerving the Doctor that he can’t get a read on her. She’s still not sure whether to tell Shaun or to chock it up to alcohol and bad judgement and let it lie. Every time she eyes the jump seat she can’t help but picture her loss of control and the guilt sits even heavier. 

She can feel his eyes on her as she springs toward the door as soon as the TARDIS stops shuddering. He doesn’t follow. 

The walk up six flights of stairs to Shaun’s diminutive flat seems to stretch on forever and she’s not sure whether she’s thankful or impatient. 

Shaun flings open the door before she can even knock and wraps her in a bone-crushing hug, burying his face in his hair. Donna can only grasp at him, feeling guilty tears leak down her cheeks. 

“Donna! I’ve missed you so much!” he says, holding her at arm’s length and taking her in. His brow knits. “Are you okay?”

His eyes are blazing with such warmth and trust and she can’t believe she’s failed him so magnificently so the tears come in earnest now. 

“Shaun I… I’ve made a mistake.”

His face crumples and he sighs. “Right well… come in.” 

He sits on the sofa and she sits on an arm chair opposite. He folds his hands neatly in his lap and waits patiently. She takes a shuddering breath and tries to collect herself. 

“We went to a lovely festival last night and there was drinking and dancing and when we got back I’m not sure what happened we must’ve been drunk but all of the sudden we were kissing and I let him, I just let him kiss me and I betrayed you and I’m so sorry–“

She breaks off abruptly because Shaun is grinning. 

“I thought you were going to finish with me!” He laughs. “So you kissed him! He’s your best friend and you two have some sort of ambiguous history. I half expected as much but I thought you two could get it sorted before I got back.”

“W-what?”

“I thought you were going to leave me here and travel the stars with him.”

“B-but you don’t understand, we were kissing and it was all happening so fast and the point is, Shaun, the point is that I would have _let_ him, we would have… if you hadn’t rung.” 

Shaun stiffens. “So when I was talking to you he was... you were...”

She nods, sniffling. She doesn’t know why she needs him to know so badly. She could have spared the details to spare his feelings. But she can’t bear the feeling of being on uneven footing. 

“Let me ask you this,” he says, sighing. “Was it just because you were drunk?”

The tears she managed to keep at bay fall freely again as she nods. He gives her a dubious look. Slowly, she shakes her head. “I don’t think so, no.”

He lets out a shuddering breath. “Right. So. What now?” 

“W-what?” she stammers, looking up at him. His head is cradled in his hands, his elbows resting on the coffee table in front of him. He looks defeated. 

“I know I said I’d never make you choose between him and me but given the circumstances–“

“You still want to be with me?” she whispers. 

His gaze snaps up. “Donna Temple Noble you are the most infuriating, irritating and sublimely beautiful human being I have ever laid eyes on and I will not leave you until you toss me out kicking and screaming.” 


	8. Chapter 8

Shaun Temple’s alarm goes off at 7:30am just like it always does, and just like always, a freckled hand smashes it into submission. He rolls over to smile at her and his greeting dies in his throat. 

She’s been crying again.

She tries desperately not to worry him, he knows. Whenever he asks her about it she always changes the subject, her voice falsely cheery, while she tries to surreptitiously wipe her eyes and erase the evidence. 

It’s been a month. 

A month since she last stepped on a new world, a month since she stopped traveling, a month since she last saw _him._ And it feels like an eternity watching her suffer.

“It’ll take me a little while, but I’ll be fine!” she told him brightly the first time he caught her weeping. 

But it’s not getting better and she’s not fine.  

 

In the end, Donna decides she owes it to Shaun to stay. He’s been so patient with her and she can’t bear to hurt him. The Doctor doesn’t want to understand. She tries to explain and he says: “Are you quite finished?” and that hurts her so much she spins on her heel and slams the door. She hears the TARDIS dematerializing a moment later. That’s what hurts the most. 

Shaun holds her while she sobs but it’s the last time she lets herself cry in front of him.

All she seems to do lately is cry. It’s endlessly frustrating. The tiniest, stupid thing will remind her of _him_ and then it hits her all over again and she’s rendered leaky as an old garden hose. But she tries her best to return to her day to day life. She starts temping again. Buys some potted plants. And begins looking for a flat in Hammersmith to be closer to her family. She keeps busy. 

She comes home one day from a long day traipsing around with an estate agent and he’s sitting at the table waiting for her with a glass of red wine. The bottle is on the table and he’s set a glass out for her as well.

She flings her keys on the table and grins. “What’s the special occasion?”

He smiles wanly at her. “Wine?” 

She nods and sits down, apprehension stirring in the pit of her stomach. He pours her a generous glass and she raises an eyebrow.

“You trying to get me pissed, Temple?”

“I’d do no such thing,” he smirks and she laughs, grateful to break the tension. 

“You know I don’t have to be drunk to let you have your wicked way with me,” she breaths huskily, and she relishes the way he swallows nervously and adjusts in his seat. 

“Right, don’t flirt with me, I’m trying to be serious,” he says firmly and she straightens up with an expression of mock solemnity. 

“Look. These last couple weeks have been–“

“Wonderful,” Donna interrupts, eyeing him sharply.

“Wonderful, yes, but difficult.”

“Shaun, I–“

“Donna I love you so much and I want to be with you for the rest of your life–“

“That’s what I want too–“

“But I don’t think it’s right.”

Donna nearly chokes on her wine, putting her glass down roughly and gripping the edges of the table with a white knuckled grip. “Are you breaking up with me?” she asks, registering in a detached sort of way the hysterical note in her voice. “You said you’d never leave me!”

He lays a calming hand on her arm and she realizes her voice has risen sharply. 

“Of course I’m not breaking up with you. I’m just giving you the option to make another choice. The choice you should have made before.”

“I… what?”

“You chose to stay with me but I don’t think that’s what you want,” he says evenly. His expression is maddeningly placid. 

“You don’t get to tell me what I want, I want this, I want _you–_ “

“The fact that you love me enough to give it all up and tell yourself that means more to me than you’ll ever understand but–“ his voice breaks, and Donna realizes beneath his calm exterior he’s barely keeping it together, “But I love you enough to give _you_ up.” 

Donna’s hardly surprised when she starts crying. It seems to be the only thing she’s good for these days but she certainly is an old pro by now. The thought makes her laugh a little desperately and he quirks his head at her. She doesn’t explain, trying to let his words sink in. Leave Shaun. Find the Doctor. Could she really abandon the life she’s built with him? Leave motherhood and domesticities and all the silly things she ever strove for behind? 

Then she pictures the Doctor, turning in his little blue box, all by himself among the stars. She’s sure he’ll have done something stupid in her absence, like sworn off companions altogether, or mucked with some timelines so that everything’s gone to shit on him and there’s not a single thing to be done about it. 

Or maybe he’s found someone else already. Maybe her bedroom has been shunted along down the hall to make room for someone new, someone young and lithe who doesn’t shout at him all the time. She wouldn’t blame him. She’s a piece of work and she knows it. 

But then she’ll have to try. Even if it takes one hundred years. 

“You could come,” she murmurs when she realizes she’s been silent a while and he’s watching her, his eyes red and worn. He’s stood up and walked over to stoop down next to her, her hand tightly clasped in his. 

“I don’t think so,” he says resolutely, shaking his head. 

Donna wraps her arms around his neck and he holds her back just as tightly. His back is shaking and she lets him bury his face in her hair. 

“Thank you,” she whispers and clutches him to her. 

 

When she leaves she says, “You must hate me,” and he shakes his head with a wry smile.

“I’ll never forget you were willing to stay.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Central London is in ashes.

There’s broken glass at his feet and the acrid smell of burning cement in his nostrils and he can’t quite scrub away the image of a terrified child running from a collapsed building.

But even among the rubble, the dying sunlight is glinting off the glass buildings on the Thames and the sky is lovely and pastel and there are people all around moving on, rebuilding— as humans always do.

And then he sees her.

Later, he’ll swear she smiled at him. Just a little quirk of her lips. Even though she’s half a block away and cast into silhouette.

He’s not quite in control of his legs after that. He doesn’t want to run because he doesn’t want to find out if she’s not real, but he can’t quite stop the pounding of his feet against the pavement and he’s pretty sure she’s running toward him too, red hair streaming behind her, in stockinged-feet with high-heeled shoes from the ruined work day clutched in her hands.

She has a smudge of ash on her forehead and her pencil skirt is frayed and there’s a singed hole in her blouse and she looks utterly bedraggled but she’s smiling so radiantly and he clutches her to him without a second thought.

She’s home. 


End file.
